“What was it about?”
He chuckles fondly. “Two unruly young men sent to live in the country with one of their uncles. Naturally, the uncle had a beautiful ward with an ample bosom that was always milliseconds from spilling out of her corset.”
I smile and nod. “Let me guess, she was a plucky redhead with flaming green eyes?”
“You know it.” He shrugs. “Anyway, before long, both young men were actively sexually harassing her, and let me tell you, the uncle was none-too-pleased about it. He marched both of them to his study and saw to his nephew with a cane first while the friend watched on. The whole thing was described in granular detail. The swish of the cane, the waiting, the humiliation, the pain, the strangled sounds the boys made on impact, the uncle’s voice lecturing them quietly. It was all there. Everything I’d ever imagined came to life on those pages.”
I blow a breath roughly through my lips. “Jesus, I’m not really one to read for fun, but I think I’d make an exception for that kind of story.”
“I must have read that scene a thousand times. I couldn’t believe there were other people out there who wanted to read or write things like that. I loved it. What about you?”
I squirm in my seat, flinching when I forget to hold my weight on my forearms, looking down to avoid his gaze. He pushes his chair back a little and pats his lap. “Come here, baby.”
I stand hesitantly and deliberate for a second about where I’m supposed to be. I feel incredibly stupid, almost sure I’ve misunderstood somehow, but also giddy with the hope that I read his signal correctly and he actually wants me to sit on his lap. I totter over to him shakily, and he pulls me down firmly. I find myself perched awkwardly on his knees, ass spilling over them, feeling small and too big and very, very ridiculous but also idiotically happy about my seating arrangement.
He wraps an arm around my lower back and looks at me intently for long enough to make me blush. “Tell me,” he murmurs.
“My mom was pretty good about talking about sex and explaining things like that to me, so I knew about the various orientations and all that from a young age, and since I’ve always been a greedy little shit, I found it a little confusing but not surprising that I was bi.”
He expels a quick snort of air. “And the spanking?”
“I remember this one time in middle school, I was being a dick to this girl called Sarah Cowman, and she got super pissed and said, ‘Stop, or I’ll tell my dad, and he’ll whoop your behind.’” I stretch my eyes wide at the memory. “I was such a dumbass I didn’t even know if she meant whoop or whip. I had to Google it, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t think of anything else. I was obsessed. It played on repeat in my mind. I was terrified that she’d tell him and he’d really do it. I used to lie in bed at night and think about it.”
I lean close to Stuart and deliberate for a second, unsure if I can or should say what I’m thinking. I want to say it. I want him to know, it’s just that I’ve never told anyone anything like this before. I feel breathless and hot and cold at the thought of hearing my voice saying the words. “It was around that time I worked out that my dick could shoot if I touched it right.”
I expect to see a warning or surprise or some kind of strong reaction on Stuart’s face. Instead, I see nothing but total acceptance cushioned in blue. He runs a hand down my spine, not stopping when it reaches my belt. He cups one of my tenderized cheeks in his palm and squeezes until I nuzzle into his neck and moan softly from the pain and pleasure of being understood. He squeezes again, the other cheek now, and this time, it rattles loose the question that’s burned a hole through my heart for years.
“Why are we kinked like this, Daddy? What made us this way?”
He holds me securely, keeping me still with nothing but the look in his eyes. Cocooning me and making me feel safe. There’s a spark. A glint. The slightest of shrugs.
“Oh, just lucky, I guess.”
He gives me a smile. A small smile. Just a quirk of his lips, really. His face is open and honest, shoulders down, no tension around his mouth. He looks comfortable, content even, completely unaware that what he’s just said has changed me. Totally oblivious to the fact he’s taken my shame and replaced it with something else.
14
Stuart
I’veneverbeenoneto advocate for spoiling boys. It isn’t necessary, and I think it’s one of those things that does more way harm than good if you’re not careful about it. But when a boy’s been on the receiving end of a hard lesson, sometimes a little treat is just what they need to get them back on track. Today has certainly been one of those days for Elliot.
“What’s the address?” I ask when he gets into the car.
“What address, Daddy?”
“The address for the smoothie place.”
His eyes are still glassy, coated with an extra slick sheen from the tears he shed earlier, and his lips are bitten dark red. He looks like he’s been rubbed raw, but his face lights up when I say it.
“Really?”
You could knock me down with a feather when we get to the place and I see a line of people flowing twenty feet from the door. I can’t believe there are more than a handful of people in the entire world who’d be happy to pay these extortionate prices for a drink that can easily be made at home, much less a crowd of them right here in my own city.
God, the world has gone mad.
“Triple turmeric, double protein, extra kale, Goddess of Greenness, please,” Elliot chirps when we finally manage to place our order. I try not to roll my eyes or show any sign of sticker shock as the cashier rings his drink up.
I carry the smoothie to the car with much more care than usual, loathe to spill so much as a drop. It isn’t until we’re both seated that I notice Elliot took two straws from the counter. He pokes them both into the opening in the cup lid and gives me a shy smile as he tilts one straw in my direction. He looks hopeful and vulnerable, and so sweet it makes me feel a little spaced out. I lean in and take a long sip. Icy fruitiness and a hum of spice explode in my mouth. Elliot’s face is so close to mine I can almost rest my forehead against his. If I leaned in a little more, I could run my tongue along the seam of his lips and taste him instead.
